Well, here we are, with husbands and with wives, Accounting for the passage of our lives,
Remembering the good old good old days
And singing good old Alma Mater's praise
And smiling and exchanging commonplaces
While trying hard to bracket names and faces.
New, unfamiliar buildings frame the Quad,
But these are not so startling, not so odd
As what abrasive years have done to hair
And teeth and such. Oh, no, we mustn't stare,
We mustn't start, or grow the slightest teary
But only slap the stooping back and query
"How many children have you?" "What's your line?"
And always comment on the answer, "Fine!"
The bald wear hats, the ones with dentures hold
Their lips a trifle tight, the fat ones fold
The flesh in so that it won't be apparent. . . .
Be kind, we tell ourselves, and be forbearant,
And afterward let not a moment pass:
Go home and look into the looking glass.